I feel the warm light and begin to know

I feel the warm light and begin to know
her surfaces and figures, the cucumbers
and tomatoes burst. I step into the shallow
water of the bayou and try to remember
the timbre of her sleeping. The unnumbered
mystery revolves about me: in the grooves
of the pasture I can see reflected amber
and turquoise. I have forgotten to prove
the sovereignty of the Sun. Her light drives
the flowers from the soil, I can't forget
the golds and purples. She is come to shove
me down into the thick mud as the target
of her arrows. I begin to feel the relief
of grasses that have begun to believe.